


Sunrise

by Carrogath



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: Pharah spends a morning with her crush of twenty years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was told by a few friends that the Mercy of _Primum Non Nocere_ isn't quite the fanon-typical Mercy, so here's my quick attempt at fanon-typical Mercy.
> 
> The scenario was cribbed fairly ostentatiously from zeugmas's "An Belinden" (go read it if you haven't). Something about Mercy ~~being dependent on substances~~ drinking coffee just appeals, I guess.

Dawn broke like a flame burst over Watchpoint Gibraltar. Blue turned to purple turned to red and to orange, each color reflecting against the waves in a brilliant Mediterranean sunrise. The base was quiet, as always, but even this early most of the crew would already be up. Omnics programmed to keep the grounds clean puttered around the Watchpoint in the early morning sun, while their fleshy counterparts rose from their beds and made their schedules for the day.

A habitually early riser, Fareeha was in the kitchen just in time to see the sun peeking out from the window over the sink. She eschewed the coffee machine—she had no need for it—and instead rummaged through the cupboards hoping to find kitchen supplies. There was no oven or burner here, only a toaster and a microwave, but perhaps if someone had thought ahead there would be a…

“Good morning, Captain Amari.” The voice was sweet, melodious with an accent she had come to recognize over the years as Swiss rather than German. “Were you looking for something?”

“Dr. Ziegler. A good morning to you as well.”

Pressed white coat, black tights, work blouse, hands in pockets. Angela wore an analog watch, which Fareeha had never understood, not when every smart device in existence had time-telling capabilities nowadays. She entered the room at a lazy gait, looking around as if to familiarize herself.

It had only been a few months since Overwatch had come back online, and even of those Angela was rarely here. Fareeha herself was due to leave two days from now—and she considered herself lucky, given Helix’s strained relationship with one of Overwatch’s most prominent (and still active) members. They had spoken a few times as professionals, as fellow members of Overwatch, but not as Fareeha and Angela. Only as Captain Amari and Dr. Ziegler.

“You can call me Fareeha, you know.” Angela had seen her as a kid, barely a teenager, with spindly chicken legs and a mother who wouldn’t stop cooing about how her daughter wouldn’t stop growing.

“Can I?” Angela smiled a bit, and walked over to the coffee machine by the sink to fill it with water. “How are you feeling? Is your suit still treating you well?”

“Yeah.” She bent down low, by Angela’s legs, and opened the bottom drawers. “Ah.” There it was, an electric griddle. She pulled it out and set it on the countertop.

“You cook?”

“Tolerably enough,” she said, feeling around the griddle’s edges for the plug. “There are some eggs in the fridge, and I bought mushrooms and a few tomatoes while I was out yesterday. I figured I would make an omelet.”

“That sounds nice.” The smell of coffee floated into the room as the machine gurgled to life. “No coffee?”

“Nah, don’t need it.”

“Huh,” said Angela. “I’m jealous.”

“You have a hard time waking up?”

“Only without coffee.” She pulled a mug from the cupboard, and poured herself a cup, then held it to her lips to blow.

Fareeha maneuvered around her to reach the fridge, then pulled out all the ingredients. The counter space was starting to fill up.

“Should I get out of the way?”

“Ah, you don’t have to leave or anything.”

Angela picked up her mug and sat at the small table by the fridge. It was cheap-looking, along with the plastic chairs and linoleum tile lining the floors. Overwatch had seen better days, she guessed.

Another attempt at raiding the cupboards produced a plastic mixing bowl, a kitchen knife, and a fork. She diced the mushroom and tomatoes on a plate, then cracked open the eggs over a bowl to whisk them.

Fareeha turned to look at her. “Oh. Uh, did you want any?”

“No, it’s all yours,” she said. “Coffee is enough for me right now.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled. “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to feel bad if you start watching me eat.”

“Do you want me to close my eyes, then?”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. “Fine, but if you start making puppy eyes at me I’m making another one.”

The omelet was cooked after a few minutes. She put it on the single plate, then sat down across from Angela to eat. She glanced at her, then turned to her food and started to eat. Then she stopped.

“OK, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“You’re watching me.”

“Do you want me to turn the other way and pretend I’m not looking?”

She bit her tongue, and tried to think of a way to tell her that, honest to God, the woman was really just distracting. She’d had her face, her hair, her figure all practically memorized by now, and being this close didn’t make it any less tempting to stare at her and hope the afterimages would burn themselves into her brain.

Angela smiled at her, let go of her coffee. “What is it?”

Oh, she could not be this oblivious.

“Nothing.”

“It certainly doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“It’s… really nothing to concern yourself with,” she mumbled, and looked the other way. She shoved a few bites into her mouth to distract herself.

“You’re not hiding any injuries from me, are you?”

“Pshh,” she said after swallowing, “nothing like that.” Maybe a long-term case of lovesickness, but Fareeha wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Does my being here really bother you that much?”

“You can stay,” she said, and after a few minutes she realized her omelet was all gone. She looked down. “Well.”

Angela took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window. “Mornings over Gibraltar are always gorgeous, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Fareeha, and stopped herself before she could add “but not as beautiful as you,” because that would be giving herself away. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum tile. The silence was deafening.

“Want me to get that for you?” asked Angela, reaching over for her plate.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Fareeha stood up, hastily washed her plate off with the dish soap by the sink, then dried it off with a paper towel and put it back in the cupboard.

She was in a completely fabricated hurry and just about to leave when she heard Angela say, “I haven’t finished my coffee yet.”

Then she stopped. “Err…”

“Don’t let me stop you if you have somewhere to go.”

She didn’t. She’d woken up early out of habit, not out of a need to go somewhere. She sat back down and stared around like an idiot.

“Fareeha,” said the doctor. Hearing her say her name sent a thrill up her spine. “I understand your combat training under Helix was…” Angela paused. “Unique.”

She creased her brow. “You’re talking about the Raptora suit?”

“Yes,” she said. “That… That’s exactly it.” Angela cleared her throat. “And you fight omnics in that suit?”

“Yes,” said Fareeha.

She frowned, and her eyes turned up as if in thought. Then she composed herself again. “So you mean to tell me you more or less fly out into the middle of the open to shoot omnics—who are armed with machine guns—with rocket launchers? In midair?”

“Uh-huh,” said Fareeha.

“ _Mein Gott_ ,” said Angela. Her expression flickered with just a smidgen of frustration before resuming its regular course. “Is that so?”

“You’re about to tell me—”

“If Helix has determined that’s what works, then… Water under the bridge, I suppose.” She sipped her coffee, seemed to notice it was going cold, and then took a larger gulp.

“You think it’s dangerous.”

“Well, of course it’s dangerous,” she said. “Any form of combat is.”

“No,” said Fareeha, “you think it’s unnecessarily dangerous. Reckless, even.”

“I never said that.”

“Doctor, it’s written all over your face.”

“Who am I to stop you?”

“You’re allowed to have an opinion, at least.”

“Indeed.” She stirred the coffee in her mug, then clutched the sides of the cup and slumped back into her chair. “Just means a bigger paycheck for when I have to patch you up later,” she murmured into her drink.

Fareeha grinned a bit. “You don’t have to put it like that.”

“I don’t mind the extra money.”

“You do mind people getting hurt, though.”

“And if I do?” Angela looked her in the eyes—hard, clear, lucid as the sky through the window—and still with that unreadable expression.

“Aha.” She looked to the side, guilty, unable to hold her gaze. “I guess… I guess I could try to be a little more careful.”

“You’ll try,” said Angela.

She smiled wryly. Lord, was this woman bitter. “Well, now that you’ve said it, I could try a little harder.”

“Would you?” she asked. She sounded unconvinced; Fareeha sounded unconvincing to herself.

“I can’t promise I won’t get hurt, but I can promise that I’ll try to avoid being totally stupid.”

That won a tired smile from her. Fareeha felt her pulse quicken. “Better than nothing, I suppose.” She finished the coffee in her cup, then washed it off in the sink. Then she looked back at Fareeha, who was ostensibly still sitting at the table and who may have been too enraptured by the woman in front of her to have noticed how obviously she was gawking. She leaned against the sink. “Do I sound bitter to you?”

She grinned in surprise. “Just a little.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, and Fareeha watched the little hands on the watch on her wrist. It was about seven o’ clock. “Old habit. Comes with the territory. You can only smile for so long before you…” She muttered incomprehensibly into her hand, and then sighed. “But that’s what people want, isn’t it? They want a pleasant doctor. Someone who seems to genuinely care when they fall injured.”

“And you do care.” Fareeha shrugged. “I’m just saying, you can be honest sometimes. I mean, there’s not much we can do if you’re a bitch about it. It might help to hear from you every now and then, actually.”

Angela blinked at her, as if she hadn’t heard her quite right. “You want me to sound bitter?”

“I said you could be honest. It’s…” Fareeha swallowed back the word “hot” and replaced it with something more appropriate, “refreshing to hear that you might be frustrated with people. Especially if that’s how you actually feel.”

She crinkled her brow. “I don't know how my patients would react to that.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know _you_ can,” she said, rolling her eyes, and Fareeha grinned, giddy. “I’m talking about people like Jack.”

“Commander Morrison probably needs to hear it the most, if you ask me.” Fareeha stood up.

“He’s old, Fareeha.” Angela began to pace around the room. “He’s a sensitive man.”

“Angela, he stole from Helix.”

She stopped and looked at her.

Fareeha coughed. “I mean, Dr. Ziegler.”

“It’s all right. You can call me by my name.”

“Anyway, the guy’s more reckless than I am. He deserves a good kick in the pants.” She paused. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“You’d make him cry?” She smiled impishly.

“You, of all people, should be making grown men cry,” she said, unconsciously walking toward her, or at least that’s what she told herself. “You’re Dr. Ziegler, genius doctor, modern saint, et cetera, et cetera. You’re, like…” She made a meaningless hand gesture. “You’re a badass.”

Angela laughed. “Am I now?”

“You don’t think so?”

“You don’t have to flatter me quite so hard,” she said, covering her mouth.

“I’m only telling you what I honestly believe.”

Angela looked at her in astonishment. She felt her face flush. “Really?”

She opened her mouth. “Yeah,” she said, trying to regain some sort of composure, “I mean, you’re part of Overwatch. I—kind of have a sense of why you left the way you did, but you guys, you know, you were like my heroes.”

“Some heroes we turned out to be.”

“You always were. But, err…” She looked to the side. “I never said you were perfect.” Somehow, while Angela was wandering around the room, she had managed to stop less than a meter short of her. Her entire body reacted to the lack of distance.

Angela looked at her and just smiled. Her knees went weak.

She clasped her shoulder, and leaned in. “We need more people like you in the world, Captain Amari.” Her breath was palpable.

Then she turned, slipped her hands back into her pockets and left.

Fareeha’s entire left side burned for the rest of the day, and oh, what a sweet burn it was.


End file.
